


Ink

by castieldauntlesswinchester



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Tattoo Parlor, Angst with a Happy Ending, Badass, Child Abuse, Emotions, Excessive Drinking, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Implied Crowley/Bobby Singer, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, John Winchester's A+ Parenting, M/M, Self-Harm, Sexual Confusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-02
Updated: 2014-11-23
Packaged: 2018-02-15 20:11:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2241876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/castieldauntlesswinchester/pseuds/castieldauntlesswinchester
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel moves to a new town and discovers the tiny local tattoo parlor with a gorgeous, green-eyed man. Story ensues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Something in Mind

**Author's Note:**

> If you are easily triggered, please be careful and aware of the self-harm and child abuse trigger warnings in this story. Keep yourself safe!  
> Please be kind, as Cas's story is based on my own personal experiences.  
> Otherwise, enjoy the story!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel stops in on the local tattoo parlor and meets a gorgeous, tatted man.

   Castiel was surprised that a tattoo parlor would have such a light-hearted bell ringing on the door with each passing customer. He smiled up at it, thin brass clanging against the glass of the door. He breathed in the sterilized smell of the shop, a smile spreading across his face subconsciously. He had just moved into town, and this was the only tattoo parlor in town. He'd hoped it would be a nice place, thought about maybe even getting a job there if he ended up liking it there. Castiel loved tattoo parlors, something about them was... comfortable. Safe.

   "What can I do ya for?" A tall, green-eyed man approached Castiel near the door. He felt himself melt under the man's intense gaze, and he was quickly lost in the emerald of the man's eyes. He'd never seen eyes so beautiful.

  "Hi, uh, I'm new in town, I just wanted to come check out the place." Immediately Castiel was all too aware of himself, straightening his cheap suit jacket. Then he noticed the man's arms- he had some of the most beautiful tattoos Castiel had ever seen, flowing over his muscled biceps and down to his forearms like he was born with them. The ink didn't stop there; disappeared beneath the gray fabric of the tank top he wore, which stretched over his thick chest and burly shoulders. Castiel was dying to see the rest of his tattoos. "I love your sleeves, those are amazing..." He couldn't draw his eyes away from the ink that lovingly adorned his arms, taking a small step forwards. Dean flashed a toothy, lopsided grin that made Castiel's heart flutter. _Dammit_.

   "Thanks, I designed them myself." Castiel noticed the man make his most subtle attempt to look him up and down, offering his hand. "I'm Dean." Castiel gripped Dean's hand. It was rough in his hand, and seemed to fit perfectly. For some reason the name sparked a reaction inside of Castiel. Maybe it was just the relief of putting a name to those eyes.

   "Castiel." Dean's interest seemed to pique at the odd name, and he knew he should've just given a nickname. It's not like he was ever going to get to know Dean that well anyway...

   "Well, Castiel- can I call you Cas?" Castiel nodded. He liked that name, or maybe he just liked the way it rolled off of Dean's lips, curled up in a playful grin. He couldn't stop himself from stealing glances at Dean's strong jawline, utterly distracted by his light stubble. "Are you interested in getting a tattoo?" Castiel already had a few tattoos, but there was one in particular that he'd been thinking about for what seemed like forever, and now seemed the right time to get it- especially if Dean was the one inking his skin.

   "Yes, actually, but I was also interested in seeing your portfolio. Do you have one with you?" He met Dean's eyes again, and held them this time. He was determined to take in as much of them as he possibly could, searing those eyes into his memory. 

   "Sure, sure, I've got one back here in my office. Come with me." Dean turned and lead Cas to a back room, Castiel couldn't help but notice the ease in Dean's stride. Even with the dark denim he wore, Cas was distracted by Dean's muscular legs, his hips. They reached a small but clean and professional office, with a desk covered in nothing but sketches and designs. "Please, have a seat. Sorry for the mess here, I've been keeping busy." He flashed a grin at Cas as he sat on the other side of the desk, then began filing through a drawer and pulled out a folder. "These are the pieces I've done since I opened this shop. Most of these are customer-designed, but people often tell me what they want and ask me to make the design for them." He sat the folder between them, and Castiel began slowly flipping through the photographs and sketches, beautiful abstract concepts, quotes, crosses, sleeves, and other designs. Castiel was not usually impressed with such typical pieces, but it was like Dean's hands brought life to even the simplest tattoo. He'd never seen anything like them. As he approached the end of the file, the designs grew more intricate, the work more impressive, it was obvious which ones Dean had designed himself. They were breathtaking. 

   "Dean, these are..." He couldn't bring himself to draw his eyes away from the art, couldn't stop flipping through the beautiful pieces that were now marked permanently on the skin of some lucky customer. Cas had to imagine Dean's warm presence behind him, the whir of the needle gliding over his skin in Dean's rough, beautiful hands. He heard Dean chuckle, his smile radiated through the room.

   "Thank you." He seemed almost... bashful. His bright eyes were fixed on the desk, twinkling green through Dean's impossibly thick eyelashes. Castiel tore his gaze from the art in front of him to study Dean's face. He could tell Dean didn't get compliments like that often. Cas had to wonder why- all of these pieces were incredible. He'd never seen work like this before. "So uh, what did you have in mind, exactly?" He acted flustered now, and Castiel noticed that Dean almost couldn't look away from him now. Something in him grew bolder and he focused his eyes on Dean, unwilling to look away. 

   "Wings." The corners of Dean's lips curled up just a little. "I was thinking full-size wings, on my back, and I have some ideas, but I want you to design them. Your work is incredible. I'll pay whatever you want." This caused Dean to squirm a little bit more, though he was doing his best to hide it. Castiel's lip tugged up at the corner. Dean checked the time.

   "I have an appointment with a customer here in just a few minutes, would you like to schedule a time with me to discuss it?" Dean met his eyes again, this time confident, sure of himself.

   "Certainly." Castiel smiled deviously. "Do you have some time tomorrow?"

   "One o'clock work for you?" He clicked a pen to write the date on the desk calendar that was hidden beneath the messy piles of sketches and designs, not once looking away from Cas.

   "One o'clock it is." He stood, and Dean joined him. They shook hands again, lingering just a little too long. "It was very good to meet you, Dean."

   "You too Cas. I hope to see you around here more often." Dean's eyes grew warmer, he looked much more comfortable, seeing the ease in Castiel's deep blue eyes, and the smirk playing at his lips. He lead Cas out of his office and back into the shop, where Castiel gave the place a last once over and turned to wave at Dean as he pushed the door open, hearing the happy tinkling of the brass bell at the door. Dean waved and gave him a smile that rivaled the sun before Castiel disappeared into the breezy July afternoon.


	2. Sleepless Nights

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sarcastically dubbed, "The life & times of Cas and Dean at 2 a.m."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy :)

   Dean rubs his eyes and takes another swig straight from his bottle of Jack. He's surrounded by a scattered mess of sketches and designs in his office, covering the desk in his office at the shop and spilling over onto the floor. He glides a pen smoothly over yet another sheet of paper, desperately trying to find the perfect lines in his fingers, the ones that flow just right, that move beautifully. Shocking blue eyes flash in his mind and the pen jerks the wrong direction, ruining the sketch. Not that he'd thought that one was any good, anyway. Wadding the paper in frustration, he threw it at the door of his office with a grunt and leaned back in his chair, digging his fingers into his hair. He gave in and closed his eyes. All he could see was those haunting blue eyes, like electricity. The curve of his jaw, the shape of his lean arms, slim torso, leading to thin hips and long legs that Dean couldn't look away if he tried, even if he _did_ want to. Dean wasn't sure that he wanted to. He shook himself violently from the images flooding through his mind, the thoughts that wouldn't leave him alone, and tried to focus on his work.

   He looked at the clock hanging in his office- it was two in the morning. He set back to work with another swig of whiskey. His pen hits the paper but his mind takes him to his own apartment this time, but now Castiel is coming home from work, and Dean kisses him on the cheek. Sitting down to watch a movie late at night, just the two of them. Eating lunch together in a quaint coffee shop downtown, chatting and laughing and relaxing together. Cas's slender hands sliding over his chest, his face settling into the crook of Dean's neck, gracing him with a kiss so light Dean wasn't sure it hadn't been a breath over his skin.

   The whiskey hits his lips. Dean laces a fingers in his sweaty hair, stares down at the mess he's made of the drawings. None of them were perfect. Plenty of them were good. Designs he would've happily proposed to any customer. Any customer but Cas. They were less than perfect. He refused to show Cas any sketch that wasn't perfect. Realizing his bottle was empty, he pushed away from the desk and rose to pull his back-up bottle from the filing cabinet. He knew that would be a good time to stop drinking, but the thoughts of Castiel that bombarded him were unforgiving and constant, but he didn't want to stop thinking about the man. Dean caught sight of the sketches that littered the floor and stooped to gather them up, grumbling to himself. He was always meticulous about organizing his office and his business. He made it a point to remain somewhat disconnected from the designs he made for customers, he wanted to be professional. This time it felt different. It felt intensely personal, he wanted this one to be connected to a deep, important part of him. He carded his fingers through his hair again and straightened the countless designs layered over the surface of the desk. Feathers seemed to fly everywhere, wing designs strewn every which way. Dean rifled through the papers, sorting out the ones that could be used on a later project from the ones that couldn't be salvaged. His thoughts wandered traitorously again: Dean's hands on Cas's chest, shoving him onto the shabby couch in his apartment and tugging his shirt off. Castiel's breath hitching at the sight.

   Dean let the liquor drag him from his thoughts, the burn of the whiskey in his throat was only just enough to bring him back to reality. Immediately this strange feeling began to build tension in his core. He wanted to run, but he knew running couldn't solve a problem like this. He'd never thought about a man... _like that._ He realized the feeling building in his gut was fear. He put the bottle on his lips again and let it linger there, feeling the Jack root him in sweet reality. He picked up a sketch that was particularly good, and chipped away its flaws in his mind, setting back to work on the perfect set of wings.

 

\-----

 

   Castiel sat nursing a beer on his faded old couch in front of his television. He'd decided that night on classic superhero movies, and he'd finally made it to the original modern Batman and Robin. Mr. Freeze was covering the entire city of Gotham in thick layers of ice, and Castiel was staring blankly at the screen. He hadn't actually been watching the movie, or the movie before that, or the one before that. Green eyes that rivaled emeralds tugged at his attention, strong shoulders and a broad chest lingered like a kiss in the corners of his mind, flawless ink stretched over lustrous, perfectly muscled arms to distract him from Robin's witty one-liners. He took a long, slow swig from his beer, emptying it, and immediately reached for another. The movie was coming to an end, and Cas had lost track of the time probably hours ago. He glanced at the clock: about two in the morning. He let out a heavy sigh and popped the beer open. He was doing his best to distract himself, but the thoughts of Dean wouldn't let him sleep in spite of it all. His eyelids drooped and his body felt weighed down by the exhaustion in his muscles. He hoped his body would just shut down soon enough. Until then he was emptying the fridge of alcohol and doing his darnedest to watch whatever movie was playing. He tried to focus on something, anything, but Dean was always there, interrupting his thoughts. Not that Castiel truly minded. He'd dated some attractive men before, but Dean was... _wow_. He still found it pathetic that he was laying awake all night like some kind of horny teenager. Cas's eyes fluttered shut for a brief moment.

   Dean's calloused hand gripped his smaller, slender one in a handshake. The memory changed seamlessly in Castiel's imagination- Dean's hand sliding up Castiel's arm, finding his neck, fingers finding Cas's jaw, cupping his face, stepping closer. His round pink lips curling up in a slight smirk.

   Castiel fell asleep on the couch with a beer in his hand as Poison Ivy confessed to killing Mr. Freeze's wife.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you guys liked it! I'll try to update quicker this time :) Comments and kudos are greatly appreciated! Let me know what you think! If you hate it, by golly say so, but please be nice, my feelings can in fact get hurt.


	3. Holy Ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean and Castiel discuss design, and then, things unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TAKE NOTE: This chapter contains references to abuse, please, PLEASE be careful!!! If you are triggered by it at all please stop right here right now and go read something fluffy or do something that makes you happy, because this fic is not for you! Stay safe, Lovelies!  
> (Also, some unhealthy views on what makes a person homosexual. Sorry. The story of what people think needs to be told in utter contrast to what the truth of the matter is. So maybe people will understand.)

   The shriek of an alarm clock assaulted Castiel and yanked him from his dreams. Dean has been snuggled up next to him on the couch in his apartment, green eyes shining, before the alarm ruined all of that. Cas groaned. He had been happy there, and he hadn't slept enough. He glared at the clock. Already twelve thirty. Fuck. He'd nearly passed out on the couch earlier that morning at around 4 a.m. when he'd dragged himself to bed, and he had to meet Dean in just a few hours. His only thought after that was coffee. 

   The bitter aroma filled the house and helped draw Castiel into awareness. He'd never slept harder in his life, but it had only been a few short hours. The comforting sounds of coffee brewing in the next room eased Castiel's pounding head ache- he hadn't had that much to drink in quite some time and found himself badly hungover for the first time since, well, high school. Jerking the pot away from the coffee maker, he poured it black into a large travel mug and took a long swig, disregarding the burn over his tongue and in his throat.  The warmth it provided sank into his gut and moved energy through his body, already improving the morning.

   Migrating to his closet, he suddenly worried about what he should wear. What would Dean like? He sorted through some shirts, but none of them felt right. He opted for a fitted black v-neck t-shirt that didn't leave much to the imagination, black jeans that hugged his ass just right, and black biker boots that honestly made him feel pretty badass. He shoved his wallet in his back pocket and decided to pick up breakfast on the way.

 

\-----

 

   Hopping out of his car, Castiel had to take a moment to appreciate the car he had parked next to. It was black and shining in the midday sun, a 1967 Impala. It was obvious that someone loved her well, everything about the car was flawless. He nearly laid a hand on it thoughtlessly, but then thought better of it. He was, after all, at a tattoo parlor. Who knew whose car that was? Maybe it was Dean's. He bit his lip at the thought.

   The charming little bell in the door announced his arrival, and Dean's eyes lit up when he saw Castiel swing the door open right on time for his appointment. He'd been anxious for the meeting, he wanted Castiel to think the designs were incredible. 

   "Hey, Cas." Smiling, he shook the man's hand firmly. A strange relief seemed to grip him at the sight of Castiel's impossibly blue eyes, a comfortable tension. He instantly noticed Castiel's provocative clothes and forced his eyes back to Cas's face. Did he _know_ what he was doing? _Of course not, that's ridiculous_. He was determined to be as professional as possible, ignoring the knots in his gut.

   "Hello, Dean." He did his very best to hide the heat that rushed to his cheeks at the sound of his name from Cas's lips. _Get it together, Dean._ The grin that stretched across Castiel's face wasn't helping the feeling in his stomach, either. 

     Castiel followed Dean through the shop to his office and closed the door gently behind him. He couldn't help but notice the overflowing trash bin on the floor next to the desk. He chose not to mention it. The desk had a few separate stacks of designs, much better organized this time. Dean didn't bother sitting down, he grabbed the sketches designed for Cas and let him flip through them. He studied each one carefully, and Dean thought he might crack under the irrational pressure he was feeling. 

   Castiel studied each one closely, getting a feel for the lines and shapes before moving to the next sketch, imagining how it might look on his back. He had no idea how he could possibly choose, he loved them all so much. His brow furrowed, and Dean could hardly take it. Cas had looked thoroughly over several of the sketches already and hadn't said a word. _Come on, Winchester,_ He thought. _He's just a customer. What's wrong with you?_ He swallowed thickly and awaited judgement.

   "Dean, these are all just... perfect. I don't know how I'm going to pick one." He was still absorbed in the drawings as he said it, and the tension in Dean's chest eased a little. Finally he came to one of the last ones, and stopped, his eyes growing imperceptibly wider. The design he decided on  was a pair of outstretched wings, each one extending from the center of his back to just above the elbow of each arm, the feathers detailed perfectly, the lines flowing over the page like water. "This one." He continued to stare at it, drinking it in.

   "Are you sure? Don't you want to look through the rest of the designs first?" Dean's voice betrayed his anxiety at Cas's decision. Blue eyes looked up at him through slightly lowered lashes. He held his gaze for a moment and it made Dean squirm, but he didn't look away.

   "Yes, I'm sure. When should we get started?" Directing his attention back to the design, he broke eye contact. Castiel knew exactly what he was doing, Dean wasn't as subtle as he probably thought he was.

"Actually, I scheduled you for a full appointment today, so we can get started right now if you want." Something in Castiel's stomach twisted and sank. He'd hoped that could wait at least until tomorrow, he wanted to give himself some time to prepare for that. But he knew he was being ridiculous, he was making a big deal out of something that just didn't matter.

   The change in his eyes was obvious, and Dean immediately started backtracking. "Of course, we don't have to start now, it's up to you, you can schedule for another time if you want." He was entirely too flustered about it, completely losing his unerringly calm and professional attitude. The look on Castiel's face pained him too much.

   "No, that's okay, you have time now. We can get started." He plastered a look of confidence on his face and forced himself to meet Dean's eyes. He would just have to get over it. Dean held his tongue for fear of saying something else he'd regret. Dean's faltering confidence almost made Cas feel a little better, knowing that he was not the only one uncomfortable, for whatever reason. Poor Dean opened his mouth and snapped it shut again, not trusting himself to speak. Castiel found his rosy cheeks endearing.

   Cas let Dean lead him back into the parlor, directing him towards a certain chair in the back of the shop. Castiel realized he'd never seen another artist in the shop besides Dean, despite the number of chairs, and it piqued his curiosity. He was relieved that it would be just him and Dean. Castiel tried to let himself relax, convincing himself that no one else would see. He started chatting with Dean as a welcome distraction.

   "Do you have any other artists working here, or is it just you?" Dean had been caught up in the process of preparing his tools, trying to lose himself in the familiar process to get back to his usual professional self. His head snapped up at the question, directing his attention back to the customer. _Seriously Winchester? Focus._

   "My brother Sam co-owns the shop with me, but he's on vacation right now, and we have a few other artists working here also, but I usually let them have Saturdays off, if business is slow enough. It's just you and me today." _Shit._ Why the hell did he say that? Dean busied himself with his tools again, pretending not to notice when Castiel shot him a boldly flirtatious look. He just wanted to distract himself from what he knew was coming. He would have to tell Castiel to take his shirt off, and he hoped he could keep his shit together and be professional when he did. He'd tatted up plenty of guys, why did it feel so different this time? 

   Castiel was doing his best to hide his anxiety, he didn't feel like he was doing a very good job. His knees felt weak and his stomach knotted itself for fear of Dean's reaction. He straightened and forced himself to handle it. It's really not that big of a deal. _Yeah, you keep telling yourself that._

  Dean could no longer stall with his tools, he steeled his resolve and turned to Castiel, meeting his eyes and holding them. "Let's get started, I need you to take your shirt off and have a seat, please." Dean didn't think he could bring himself to avert his gaze from Cas's slim body. 

   Castiel thought he might throw up. He took a deep breath and in one swift motion it was done.

 

 

    _Oh._

 

 

   Scars covered his back. Thick, white, nasty scars that had obviously been there a long time. The wounds had been so deep that the gnarled scar tissue raised up on his back. It was obvious that some of the scars had been removed so that the skin didn't stick out quite so far. The scars were still thick and ugly and it made Dean want to hit something. The rest of Castiel was so beautiful, his slender hips and lean chest and slim, muscled core, but someone tried to ruin it. No one deserved that, especially not _this_ man. He resisted the impulse to touch them. He wished he could touch the scars away, but more importantly, the memories that surely went with them, too. Whatever they were.

   The silence in the room grew heavier. Castiel sat down, facing away from Dean, his back bared. He'd never been so grateful for a reason to look away from someone. What was he thinking? Was he disgusted? Did he just assume where they came from? Was it obvious? Would Dean look at him differently now?

   Thankfully, Dean knew what to do. He'd seen plenty of scars, lots of people used tattoos to cover them up, and there was a way to go about it. You pretend it's not there. He set his mind to cleaning the skin on Cas's back that he would be inking. He was silent for a moment, not sure how to start conversation without feeling like a total bastard. He'd never seen scars this terrible on a person. It looked like he'd been whipped. _Fuck protocol._

   "I'm sorry." He muttered the words quietly, reverently, and Castiel could feel the emotion behind the words. Not pity. He hated being pitied. It was closer to respect. Grief. He sounded like someone had punched him in the gut. And for some reason that made a difference to Castiel. He didn't quite know how to react. He decided on casual bitterness, but the words that came out sounded more broken and soft.

   "Yeah, well, you didn't put them there."

   They were silent for a moment, Dean finding some comfort in the routine of getting someone ready for the needle. An unspoken understanding had passed between them. Dean had made it clear that he cared, and Castiel trusted him enough to let him be the one to cover those scars, even if he was just some random tattoo artist, but it didn't feel that way anymore.

   "Can you... still do it? I didn't know if you could tattoo over something like that..."

   "Yeah, I can definitely do it. If you want, I can... help remove some of this." Dean's fingers hovered over the deepest scars, and Castiel felt the heat of his fingers so close, hesitating. Castiel's head tilted with hope.

   "You can do that?" He sounded timid, like someone had told him that what was left was the best they could do. Dean knew for a fact that he could do so much better. "I just want it covered up." He still wouldn't meet Dean's eyes.

   "Yeah, I actually have some scar removal supplies back at my apartment, they're amazing, I could ...smooth this out pretty well." Dean gave up. He knew it was unprofessional and inappropriate and probably rude, but he let his fingers brush across one of the scars. Immediately he regretted it, he was unsure of how Cas would react. He felt the other man stiffen under the touch, but then he seemed to relax again. Castiel could hardly believe Dean had been so bold, he seemed so flustered and shy most of the time. He had powerful associations between his back and negative sensations and physical pain, but Dean's touch had been so gentle, reverent, like his scars were holy ground. He relaxed under Dean's hand, though the man didn't touch him again. "Would you... want to do that?" Dean asked timidly. "It would be free, of course, and you'd have to come to my apartment, and-"

   "Oh, no, Dean, I would insist on paying. It's okay." Castiel turned and smiled at him for what felt like the first time. And for the first time, Dean felt comfortable looking at him, his blue eyes suddenly warm and soft, his smile reassuring. This time he didn't look away. 

   Dean was sort of having a crisis in his mind but Castiel was so distracting that he tried not to worry about it. He'd suspected for some time, and that made it easier, at least. That he was gay.  The idea didn't bother him too much anymore, his uncles, Bobby and Crowley, had been together longer than he'd been alive, so he was used to being around it. He'd been with girls before, but it just never... felt right. Something about it never satisfied him. So he just gave up, thought maybe the right girl would walk into his life someday... or maybe it would be a guy. 

   Why not?

   "The shop closes at six tonight, so if you want to meet me at my apartment, or...?"

   "That sounds wonderful. Can I get your address?" Castiel's smirk grew into a smile, and Dean felt the heat rush to his cheeks again. He still refused to look away. 

   They exchanged information, phone numbers and Dean's address, and only then did Castiel put his shirt back on, sexy bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing.

   Dean's address in hand and a warmth in his heart, Castiel strolled into the heat of the afternoon, stealing one last look at Dean before he disappeared, only to find those green eyes watching him leave.


	4. Blue Eyed Angel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel and Dean's meeting at his apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a somewhat emotional scene about previous abuse in this chapter! Please be careful! And if you're going to comment on that specifically, please be kind, because it is based on true events.

_You don't even have a chance with him. Get over it._

   Castiel sat in his car with the engine off outside Dean's apartment building, pinching the bridge of his nose and taking a deep breath. He felt some of the tension leave his shoulders, but his gut remained tightly knotted. The sun was sinking lower in the sky when he finally steeled his new-found nerves and got out of the car.

_How bad could this really be? You've been rejected before. This should not be a big deal._

_But it is._

_It's different this time._

   Dean jumped at the three sharp knocks on the door. He'd spent the afternoon cleaning his apartment like mad- especially the bedroom. _Just in case._

   He paused in front of the door, exhaling a deep, shaky breath, imagining the man on the other side. Suddenly he's very aware of his shirt, straightening it, and swings the door open. Blue eyes just about knock the breath out of Dean for the millionth time that day, and the words on his lips are suddenly lost. Cas smiles awkwardly, worrying his lip, and Dean desperately works to regain control of his thoughts. He pastes on his best business-owner smile, feeling a bit safer behind his usual facade. "Cas, come on in. I hope you found the place okay?"

   "Yeah, I actually live a few roads down, on Luther."

   The following silence quickly deteriorated into something heavy and uncomfortable. Castiel hovered near the couch, Dean fiddling with some equipment on coffee table, all too grateful for something to do with his hands and his eyes at the moment. Cas finally settles onto the couch beside Dean and decides to get on with it. He looks expectantly to Dean, still sorting out some materials on the coffee table.

   "So, how does this work, exactly?"

   "Basically, this -" He held up a thin needle of some sort, it was unassuming, with a clear liquid filling it- "will loosen and help dissolve the scar tissue, layer by layer. Then this -" The next item appeared similar to the first, but the plunger was already down, probably designed to pull something into it- "sucks up the tissue. With less serious scars, this equipment could make significant improvement in just one or two applications, but yours are going to... take a little more time." 

   They shared a look, and Castiel wasn't sure what to make of it. He was far too distracted by the sight of Dean biting his lip softly. 

   "So, should we... go ahead and get started, then?"

   Suddenly Dean's professionalism returned to him, just in time.

   "Sure, I've got just about everything ready. Go ahead and take off your shirt."

   Dean immediately left the room, making Cas feel more comfortable to remove his shirt. He realized how ridiculous he'd been- Dean had seen his scars. His reaction was different- not of shock or pity. He reverently acknowledged that he didn't understand. Cas remembered Dean's fingers on his back, his quiet words, and the stress and discomfort of the situation melted away.

   In the kitchen, Dean pushed his palms into the sharp edge of the cheap counter top, drawing deep breaths, in attempt to steady himself. _Professional, Winchester_. He pulled two beers from the fridge and kept his eyes down, anywhere but Cas's chest... too late. Cas was lounging back on the couch, his rib cage and the lean muscles of his torso prominently on display, long, slender arm thrown over the back of the couch. Dean tilted the beer in his direction as he moved to his place on the couch, Cas taking it gratefully. 

   Dean turned on the couch to face Cas, and he turned towards Dean, almost too close. _Or not close enough._  

   "First we have to sterilize your back, so turn like this for me..." Dean's heavy hands settled on Cas's muscled shoulders, tilting his bare back for Dean to reach easily. 

   The cleaning agent felt cold and strange on his back - well, in the places he still had nerves. 

   Castiel was overwhelmed by Dean's sensitivity. He didn't make it feel awkward, he didn't pry. He hadn't even asked, and Castiel, strangely, didn't feel the need to tell. Which is exactly what made him trust Dean, what made it all come spilling out at that moment. Because he didn't have to.

   "It was my dad. He had... anger issues when I was a kid." Dean said nothing, just kept tenderly working over Cas's back. "When I was really young, he was really drunk and he took his rifle and swung it into my mom's chest, and she went flying through the wall. I tried to help her, and... well, that big one there over my right shoulder blade. He got the whip, said I was an insolent child, not to interfere, and..." Cas's voice was breaking. He'd never told anyone that story. Plenty of others, sure. The ones that weren't so personal, the ones he could separate from himself, from his emotions.

   He felt Dean's other hand, solid and warm on his back. At some point during the memory, Dean had put the cleaning agent down. 

   "Wow, I'm sorry. It's not fair for me to just say all of that to you." Cas turned to seek out those green eyes, the hand remaining firm and comforting and supportive on his back. There was something sad written on his face, like he's seen something damaged and beautiful.

   "Cas..." An unexpected tear slid down his face, over his cheek bone and jaw to his neck. The green of his eyes, glassy and clear behind the tears, drew him in with such force that he couldn't bring himself to look away. Castiel felt a tear roll down his own cheek, and Dean's caress wiped it away. A nearly silent gasp escaped Dean when Cas leaned into the touch, and his eyes widened. He definitely hadn't expected that.

   Dean leaned toward him slowly- giving him time to move away if he wanted- and Cas felt himself leaning in, too, until Dean's breath was hot on his lips and he couldn't hold himself back.

   Cas's lips were soft and warm and suddenly not quite enough. Dean's fingers slid into his hair, black and smooth and unruly, gently pulling Cas into him. 

   Castiel loved Dean's large hands over his jaw and at his neck, possessive but not overbearing. Sweet. He was more than happy to lean into the kiss, there was something addictive about Dean's tenderness, something that made him want more of it. Castiel's hand found Dean's neck, and he wanted to kiss Dean there too, but all too quickly his lips were left cold. Dean's fingers carded so softly through Castiel's hair one more time, and then gently he took Castiel's shoulders and turned him away to remove the terrible, nasty scars that riddled the skin of Castiel's back. 

   He turned away willingly, the tears flowing freely now, and he buried his face in his hands and moved ever so slightly closer to Dean. Dean's free hand came to rest on Castiel's back, his shoulder, his side, his arms, wherever he could comfort his blue eyed angel. He chose to leave it there instead of wiping his own tears away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm SOOO sorry I've taken so long to update! I'll try to be quicker and more consistent in the future!  
> Comments and kudos are my lifeblood, wink wink.


	5. Uncompromising Compassion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The apartment scene continues.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry that it took sooo long for me to update this, this chapter was hard for me to write and my life got kinda crazy, but I promise I'll never abandon you. :)  
> *This chapter has self-harm triggers and some angst! Please be careful!*  
> Aside from that, happy reading!

   Dean reached past Cas's place on the couch to grab more removal solution. His sleeve brushed Cas's bare arm and his chest was almost rubbing Castiel's back, his breath hot on the back of Cas's neck. He lingered a heartbeat longer than he should have, taking in the musty scent of his messy black hair and the perfect little details in his neck and broad shoulders. He watched, enraptured, as a quiver ran through the muscles trapped beneath his tight skin, and he froze for a moment. Castiel almost turned to look back at him, but Dean moved first, opening the bottle of solution he'd grabbed. The knot in Dean's stomach twisted a bit, but in a good way, if that makes sense.

   Cas reached behind him where Dean's hand met his back and tugged Dean's hand in front of him. "What do your tattoos mean?" He brushed his fingers over the ink on Dean's forearm with a reverence that left Dean staring and a little breathless. He was so gentle, his arm cradling Dean's as if he could easily shatter; slender fingers tracing the lines of the rose just beneath his wrist.

   "That one's for my mother, Mary. She died when I was a kid." Silence hung in the room for a moment.

   "I'm sorry, Dean. It's very beautiful."

   "I have these faint memories of her, you know? Smiling and kissing my forehead, and the feeling of her hair on my cheek. This _warmth_. But that's all I remember. I was only five years old." An unexpected tear slid down his face, and he wiped at it quickly with his free hand, heat rushing to his cheeks. He hadn't talked about his mom in a long time, not with his brother or anyone else. He must've made a noise because Castiel turned quickly to face him and cupped Dean's warm face in his hands. Dean leaned into the touch just slightly. 

   "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to upset you." Castiel's face was so bent by angst and frustration that Dean could barely look at him. He never wanted to see that much pain on his face ever again. He wanted to wipe it away and bring back that charming smile. It suited his face so well.

   "No, it's okay. You shared some of this with me," Dean brushed a hand across the texture of Castiel's scars. "It's only fair, I should return the favor." He gave a weak smile, sliding his hand over Cas's on his face, circling his thumb over Cas's hand lightly. He looked at Dean with those wide blue eyes, his gaze so intense that Dean turned his gaze towards his arms. Taking hold of Cas's fingers, he traced the pads of his fingers over one of his favorite tattoos, the wings of an angel and a demon twined in an artful battle closer to his elbow. "My dad wasn't exactly father of the year either, and when I turned fourteen I got into cutting. Which lead to other things, like burning, and eventually I started shooting drugs. The wings cover up most of my burns, you can almost see the scarring if you look close enough." Castiel closed his eyes and dropped slow barely-there kisses along the length of the wings. Dean tried not to gasp, forcing out a harsh breath instead. His green eyes widened and he couldn't move.

   "What about this one? I want to hear your stories, if you want to tell them." He seemed so calm and sincere, Dean couldn't help but carry on.

   "This one here, there were scars where I used to shoot up, and when I came down I always used to dream that the ocean was swallowing me, and there was nothing left of me, I just stopped existing, and when I quit, I wanted to wash that away too, just another memory I wanted to wash away, so I did." Dean dragged the back of Cas's fingers over the intricate waves tattooed just below the crook of his elbow.

   "I remember when I finally stopped cutting myself, I only did it because my little brother Sammy found out, and he'd cried so much..." Dean stopped for a moment. Glassy tears rolled down his face, and Castiel leaned in to kiss them away with warm, delicate lips. It felt good to talk about this again, to someone he really trusted, someone who wasn't hurting because of him. _Someone you trust? You just met this guy._

_But he's different._

   Dean noticed the quiver in his hands and tried to draw deeper breaths. "Sammy cried so much, and I just felt so lost." Castiel traced the compass on Dean's bicep. "And then eventually I felt numb again. Always so numb. I wanted it all to mean something. If everything I went through was random, if my pain was by chance, I couldn't handle that. I needed it to mean something. I needed my life to mean something." Dean pushed Castiel's fingers over the bright, beautiful forest that extended from below the waves on his forearm to his wrist. He felt the thin ropes of scars that ran parallel to Dean's wrist, forming the trunks of the gorgeous trees. As he continued to caress Dean's arm, he felt more and more scars beneath his fingers, could barely pick out where they had been. There were so many of them. He looked at Dean's other arm; it wasn't much better. If Dean hadn't pointed them out, Cas never would've seen the scars on Dean's arms. He guessed that was how he wanted it. Cas looked to Dean's face again, still staring at his hands. Castiel placed tender fingers under Dean's chin, and when he looked up, Dean could barely stand what he saw. There was an uncompromising compassion in his eyes that held Dean steady in his hands.

   "You're so beautiful, Dean."

   He lost it. The tears fell over his cheeks and slid down his jaw without mercy, and he stared at Castiel in disbelief until he was hauled into the tight, warm circle of Castiel's arms. The arms wrapped around him felt pleasantly stronger than they had seemed, and large, caring hands rubbed over his back. "It's okay, Dean." Castiel's lips moved over Dean's ear and the hot breath of air made him shiver. For the first time in, well, ever, he let himself cry. He started to croak an apology, but Cas would have none of that. "Shhh. Dean, it's okay. It's okay." That was all he needed to hear. They stayed like that for who knows how long. Dean lost all sense of time in Cas's arms. He tried to take deep breaths, to calm down, and eventually Cas pulled away and kissed Dean's face until Dean wanted to cry again, because he wasn't used to this kind of affection. Cas leaned his forehead against Dean's, and Dean let the blue of those eyes mesmerize him. He shyly brushed the back of his fingers over Castiel's cheek, and almost didn't know what to do when Cas closed his eyes and leaned into the touch like he was breathing for the first time. Dean pressed his palm to Cas's face, brought his other hand up to his neck, laced his fingers in the hair at the back of Cas's neck. Blue eyes widened in front of him, and Dean leaned in to steal his breath. When Cas kissed back, he forget where they were, and when the warm slide of a tongue met his lips, he couldn't think of his own name to save his life, not that it mattered too much in that moment. Everything was _Cas. CasCasCas_ and he was happy that way. 

   Dean's heart pounded in his chest when he realized that Cas was already missing his shirt, and apparently Castiel had had the same thought, because he felt a hand pawing at his shoulder, and he let Cas push him back against the couch. Pressure settled over his hips, and then in his chest, when he realized _Cas was straddling him._ He stared dumbly at the broad chest in front of him, and then there were hot lips against his neck, a tongue pushing at his pulse point, and he couldn't help the gasp that pushed its way out of him. His mind finally came to him, and his hands molded to Cas's back, head tipping back into the couch to let Cas do what he pleased with his neck. Sucking bruises to his neck, and then his chest, it seemed like Cas was just getting started, when Dean felt hands on his arms, the weight on his lap disappearing for a moment. Cas was pulling him off the couch, devouring Dean's mouth like he was made for it, and Dean was pushing back and clawing at Cas's back, desperately pressing their bodies closer. 

   The heat of Cas's lips disappeared just long enough for him to gasp, "Where's your bedroom?" before his lips crashed into Dean's again.

   Dean started guiding Cas in that direction, lacking the control to pull away long enough to tell him where. He pushed further into Castiel's mouth, relishing the wet heat and needing more of it. He pushed Cas down the short hallway that led to his bedroom and smirked before he shoved Castiel against the wall long enough to shed his shirt, and immediately attached his lips to Castiel's chest, sucking bruises over his pale body. He grinned up at Cas, whose blue eyes were blown black with excitement, his hair seeming somehow even messier than his usual sex hair. The sounds he made were downright pornographic, and Dean couldn't wait to hear what other noises he could coax from the beautiful man beneath his lips.

   Dean pushed the door open and started pulling Cas through it, when Cas jerked Dean up to run his tongue over Dean's ear, long fingers in his hair. He shivered as Castiel whispered, "So tell me Dean, do you have any other tattoos?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been really great, writing my very first multi-chapter fic and all my lovely readers being so supportive and kind to me. :) Comments are kudos are the breath in my lungs. Thanks guys :) xx

**Author's Note:**

> I really hope you guys enjoyed this!!!  
> (I don't own any characters or Supernatural, yada yada the usual disclaimers.)


End file.
